by Shelly Crane
"Ha, ha."
She waved and went out. I stared at the sandwich, my appetite nonexistent. I set it on the bedside table and almost picked up the book Mason gave me…but decided against it. Instead, sulking was the order of business and I got right to it. I rolled my head to the side and stared at the Christmas presents still wrapped in the windowsill. I couldn't bring myself to open them. They were for her after all. They were for that girl I used to be, and I wasn't interested in seeing what they would have gotten her.
I closed my eyes and wondered what would have made Mason change his mind like that. I was confused in the worst way, because not only did I not understand what had happened, I couldn't even make it into the bathroom to sulk like a girl properly.
So I settled for a mild pity party and tried to sleep. Soon, I did.
"Emma, time for your meds."
I squinted and turned from the annoying noise. "What?"
"It's time for your meds," she said more forcefully. It was the morning nurse. Why they insisted on coming and giving me meds at seven at the butt-crack-of-dawn was beyond me. I downed the pills and smiled angrily at her. She turned, unfazed, and left, letting the door shut with a small slam.
It was then I noticed Mason. He was sitting in the armchair asleep, one leg over his knee and his head leaned back. He was even snoring just a tad, and it kinda pissed me off how adorable it was. I wanted to be mad at him. He had blown me off and I wasn't going to accept his cute little snore as an apology. Even though it was obvious he had slept there uncomfortably and had come back. But why? What had happened last night? I was beginning to think Mrs. Betty was right. It must have been some emergency. I tried to think of any other family members he talked about, but had only heard of his mother, who died in an accident.
I leaned my head against the pillow and watched him. He had watched me when I had my freak-out and it was time to return the favor. He swallowed and I watched his throat work. I was shocked at how much I liked that. Then he moved a little, tilting his head. He seemed to be dreaming.
On his lap was another book. The title read Even More Useless Facts. I was so confused. First he ditched me after making a point to tell me he wanted more, and now he's bringing me more books?
I decided not to wake him, though I couldn't deny that my traitorous body was happy that he was here. I just couldn't let him see how much I wanted him there when he clearly was even more confused than I was. I wanted him to make the decision for himself to want to be here, not just be here because that's what he thinks I want from him.
While he slept, Isabella brought in a box of things for me. She kept looking back at Mason curiously, and then at me with a small, guilt-inducing expression. As if I were doing something wrong. I didn't understand why.
Did she not want Mason here when he was clearly there for other reasons than business ones? But I thought she loved Mason.
"And here's your cell. It's been turned off all this time so there's no telling what's on here, but I charged it before I came. Maybe it will be good to see your friends' names and what they had to say to you."
I raised an eyebrow at her. She just smiled as I put the phone to the side. That was something I'd have to do later when I was alone. Next she handed me a purse. It was had a 'D&B' on the side. I wondered what that stood for because it wasn't my initials. After unzipping, I peeked inside, almost scared of what I'd find. Sitting on top was a small pouch that had a ton of make-up in it, lipgloss of every color. I uncapped one and it smelled like coconut. I put a little on and tasted it with my tongue. It was sweet.
"You have a thing for lipgloss," she said sweetly as she put an errant strand of hair back behind my ear. "That's why I always made sure to put it on you here."
I remembered. "Thanks. I can see why I'd like it."
"I need to discuss some things with the warden," she said and winked at her joke. "I'll be back in a bit, OK? Your father will be here after work."
I nodded. When she closed the door, Mason jolted awake. He looked around and when he saw me watching him, he smiled sadly. "I bet you're wondering why I'm sleeping here, huh?"
I shook my head. He wasn't weaseling any smiles out me. I wasn't going to let him off the hook for this so easily. Or so I thought.
He swiftly came, setting the book on my table, and sat on the sheets next to me. His weight pulled the sheets tight, making me roll a bit toward him as I sat there. "I am so sorry, Emma. I had an emergency and couldn't get away in time. When I finally made it here, you were asleep. I'm so sorry."
"It's fine," I dismissed. I looked down at my sheets. They seemed to be a constant source of visual stimulation for me. I just had this vibe from him that he was holding something back. Maybe he thought hurting my feeling would halt my progress in therapy, but I felt his fingers under my chin and when I looked up, he was so close his breath skated across my cheek.
"No, it's not fine. I'm the worst kind of scum. I'm fish-tank algae. I'm horse-hoof matter. I'm-"
I laughed in spite of it. "OK, I get it. It's fine."
"It's not," he argued again, serious, "but I don't know what I can do to make it up to you. I have a lot of family emergencies unfortunately, and I can't sit here and say that it won't happen again. It might." I nodded at his honesty. "But I'll try my hardest, and beg you to understand that I wasn't here because I didn't want to be. I did, very much."
I wanted to ask what emergencies they were, but he hadn't divulged anything as of yet, and I didn't want to make him. Again, I wanted him to want to share these things with me. "I'll take that."
He smiled that Mason smile that set me on fire all over, and then he put one hand on the other side on the hospital bed and the other lifted toward my face. I waited...bated breath, gulping, sweaty palms, the works. His face got so close before he stopped. I thought he had decided against whatever he was doing he waited so long. I began to pull back in disappointment, but he reached behind my neck gently and pulled me to him. The barest of touches was the best way to describe our first kiss. It wasn't really a kiss at all. His bottom lip barely brushed my top one. When he leaned back and opened his eyes, he must've seen the confusion and frustration in my face. He chuckled. "I just had to taste that coconut…" he licked his lips, "but I don't want to kiss you when you've been angry at me and I messed up our date." He said 'date'. Like…a date. "I want to kiss you when, if we go another second without it, one of us will combust."
My breaths were raging. I tried to calm myself. "I…" I failed.
"I want to give you back your first kiss, the one that jerk stole from you. And I want it to be something that even a coma can't make you forget."
I gave him the smile he wanted. Even though I couldn't remember my life, I was positive no one had ever said anything like that to me before. He reached his arms around my waist and I found my face pressed into a warm neck that smelled amazing. His collar pulled down further and I saw another tattoo peeking out. I reached my fingers up and traced it. He shivered and I found myself laughing. He pulled back, laughing, too, and touched my chin. "I'm seriously ticklish. Like, it's a problem."
"I'll remember that," I said coyly.
"Don't tell anyone." He smiled and leaned up to kiss my forehead. "I've got to make my rounds, but Springer's on at noon. Lunch date? We can make fun of all the baby-daddies."
I laughed loudly. "Please."
"OK," he said softly. "It's a date."
"It's a date."
He kissed my forehead once more, lingering with his eyes closed. Mom came in just as he was leaning away. The pinched look on her face made me want to ask her why she all of a sudden didn't like Mason.
He smiled wryly and gave a small wave as he made his way to the door. "Bye, Isabella."
"Mason." Her tone was clipped to say it mildly. He looked back a fraction of a second before closing the door.
"What's the matter?" I asked, because I couldn't not ask. "What's wrong with you and Mason?"
"What's up with you and Mason?" she coun
tered.
I felt my lips part in surprise. "What? He's a nice guy."
"He's your therapist and he's too old for you," she said softly.
"He's only a couple years older. That's nothing." I squinted in confusion. "What's this about?"
She pursed her perfectly lipsticked lips. "Emma, you may not remember it all right now, but you had a very detailed plan laid out for yourself. You had the college in place, applications sent in and accepted, cheerleading scholarships, the perfect pretty and petite roommate chosen, and though you were dating Andrew, you planned to…dump him before leaving so that you could focus on everything that needed to be done for your future." My face had to be displaying not only my shock at her words, but my disgust. Did she not see that what she just said was one of the shallowest things I'd ever heard?
"OK…"
"Just because you don't remember now doesn't mean that you should blow all your plans. When you remember, you won't like it that you blew your chances and wasted so much valuable time."
I paled. Wasted time?
She saw and backtracked. "Oh, gosh…Emma. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it that way." To her credit, she did look so very sorry. "Please, honey…"
"It's OK." I swallowed. "But even if I do remember everything…I'm not sure I even want to be the person I was before."
She looked pale before, now she looked positively like she was about to hit the hospice linoleum. She pushed her hair back, her eyes drifting to the spot above my bed and not on me. Not my eyes. "We'll talk about this with your father. I have errands to run for the church since the secretary had her baby and I'm filling in, so Mrs. Betty can give you your sponge bath, if that's OK?"
"Sure."
She finally looked at me. "I love you, honey. I know that you don't know that yet, but it's still true." She kissed my hair and left without looking back.
I sat soaking in a puddle of doubt. I thought that my decision to focus on therapy hardcore and then figure everything else out later was a great one, but now I was learning it may not have been something that would be conducive for family closeness. Was I more interested in figuring out who I was, or trying to please my parents and figure out who I used to be?
Mason did come in later at lunch to watch Springer, but he sat in the chair and though we laughed together, I could tell that a heaviness had settled over him since he'd left my room that morning. When it was over, he said he had rounds to do and that he'd see me at my session later that afternoon. I thought maybe he was just tired, but when session time rolled around and he decided that instead of real therapy I was back to squeezing the therapy balls…with him leaning on the back wall looking dejected, I knew something was up.
It made me feel like I was living that saying, two steps forward, three steps back. My progress with my therapy was slow but steady. My progress with Mason was confusing and pretty much nonexistent, because it wasn't really progress if the person couldn't even look you in the eye, and his heart was practically laying on his shoes it was so heavy.
I wanted to ask him what happened, but I had a feeling — a really, sinking feeling — that his answer would make me feel worse and make him feel guilty. So I settled on stewing in self-pity that night. I wanted him to want to explain things if he was having a problem with us, but I assumed it had something to do with Isabella…my mom…and the look she gave him. In fact, I would have bet on it.
Useless Fact Number Seven
The first couple to be shown in bed together on television was
Fred & Wilma Flintstone.
The days passed in a hectic blur. Mrs. Betty was fast becoming my best friend, whether she realized it or not, and my parents were still the same old, same old. Of course, my mother was a little more chipper these days because Mason had backed off considerably. I had whiplash from the boy, but seeing as how I knew his reasoning for backing off, it was hard to blame him. He was one of the good ones, and the good ones wanted to be respectful and do the right thing and…all that stuff. Even though they seemed like they were helping you, it was still breaking your heart.
I tried to cut him some slack, and we found a good work pace and a sense of normalcy to our relationship that consisted of sarcasm, Springer jokes, and working our butts off to get me out of there. Mason's renewed vigor to the task only led me to believe that he hoped things would change once I got out—once I was not his patient, once I was not off limits. It wasn't exactly wishful thinking. It's like when you go to the zoo and you see the panthers. They prowl and stare at you from across the fence, sniffing and eying you. Make no mistake, that panther wants you for supper, and if that fence wasn't there, you would be. But he knows the fence is there. So he settles on prowling and longing looks. Mason was the panther and this place was the fence. He'd practically said as much. His longing looks when he thought I wasn't looking were obvious. He probably caught me in my own daydreaming about him, dreaming of the day when the gate opened and the panther was set loose to devour me.
It made my skin flush just thinking about it. But, in a way, it had helped tremendously. We focused on therapy instead of anything else, and it had paid off. This was my last week here. I could walk on my own, though not for very long and I was still pretty shaky, and I was brushing my own teeth. And the bathroom no longer required an audience. You just have no idea the amount of dignity and confidence I'd acquired since Mason had decided to back off. It was the strangest thing how things seemed to just work out sometimes.
But with only days left until I was set free, I was being put through the wringer with tests and final evaluations. With Epsom salt baths every night, and massage, and even some acupuncture they tried on me, I felt better and better every day. I was so tired, but it was a good tired. I felt accomplished. Adeline was still Adeline, prissy, snide, and just doing her job. I told her what I thought she wanted to hear basically, and I knew that could hinder my 'progress', but I'd never felt this alive since I woke up. I would do anything to get out of there.
One of my therapies was to write. Letters, whatever I wanted, but making my hands work the way they should again was important. It was one more thing that I felt like a child about. My handwriting was atrocious to say the least. A kindergartener would laugh and tell me to try again. So that's what I did. I used Mason as my motivation, weirdly. I wrote the same line over and over again until it was legible, and then it was almost normal looking. It was something funny in the book he'd gotten for me and I figured it might be something worth knowing. I felt compelled to give it to him, for him to see that I was making leaps and bounds and strides to get the heck outta Dodge.
The fact that I kissed the line I'd written with my pink cherry lipgloss wasn't important.
The next thing I started writing was a list. It was an I want to be normal again list and the very line read, Walk. So I crossed that out. The next thing on the list would be to get out of the facility.
So today, as Mrs. Betty walked me to therapy, because Mason was running late, I was giddy on a new level. I had stopped using the wheelchair, even though they thought I should. I just felt any extra exercise, though it made things harder for me, was better. Since I'd sent Andy away, my mom had started to tutor me. Well…she brought my schoolwork every day and I pretty much caught up by myself. Because, just like the therapy, I wasn't backing down. This was my life we were talking about. Was I going to go through an extra year of high school just because things were hard? Just because doing so much work for a few weeks wasn't fun? Just because it put Isabella in my room more often?
Absolutely not. I was determined to walk, check. Get caught up in school, check. Get out of here and go home, check. And now, decide which girl I wanted to be. I hadn't done that yet, but I was on my way. Once I got back in school and into all those things I'd done before, I could make an objective decision, right? For now, I was just excited to see Mason.
We tiptoed around each other in awkwardness most of the time, but I still enjoyed his company more than I should have.
"What am I going to do without my favorite patient, huh?" Mrs. Betty asked. She gave me a cheeky look. "You're just going to run off and leave me here all alone?"
"Absolutely."
She laughed. "Well, all right then."
"I will miss you terribly though." She smiled at that and I pulled her to a stop and hugged her. She was a bigger lady, but as short as me, and she felt so much like a mother. "I really will miss you."
"A pretty thing like you will have tons of friends waiting for her back at school," she assured.
"But I don't know those people, and they are going to want me to be Emmie."
"You be Emma," she said harder and pulled back to look at me. "You be you, honey. They will either like it or they won't, but at least you'll know that you were yourself."
"Thank you. I know that you don't have to do all the things you do for me."
"I get paid to wash your sheets and bring you supper." She smiled wider. "But I'm privileged to know you and be able to see you walk right out of this hell hole." She laced her arm through mine and pulled me along with her. "You're going to be great. I have no doubts that this world better watch out, 'cause Emma Walker is coming back to town."
I laughed just as we reached the therapy room. "Now you're just fluffing my ego."
Mason leaned against the doorjamb. "Now Mrs. Betty, you causing trouble for my Emma?"
Mrs. Betty and I both jerked our faces to look at him. He realized what he'd said and licked his lips, a little smile of chagrin there, as he looked away and cleared his throat.
I looked back at Mrs. Betty and she was grinning. "Mmhmm," was all she said before winking and walking away. I fought to hold in my laughter and my grin.
"Ready, Em?" he asked from behind me. I turned to find him smiling, apparently deciding not to try to hide from what he'd said. His hand was outstretched to me. I put my hand in his without a second's thought. It was warm and calloused from work, but also soft. Maybe it was just my imagination.
I pulled the note I'd written out on some hospital letterhead and forked it over. "I wrote you something…very interesting that I found in your book."
